


Avengers Scenarios

by WinterWraith



Category: Godzilla: King of The Monsters (2019), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-02-19 09:02:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22742044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterWraith/pseuds/WinterWraith
Summary: My brain can't shut up and I'm making this everyone's problem.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	1. 0-8-4: Prince Jord of Asgard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed the ending of this part and added a bit more backstory. See yall in a few more months for the long awaited second chapter (which I now have to rewrite AGAIN because I changed this ending)

Phil Coulson mentally steeled himself when Director Fury called him to report a 0-8-4 in New Mexico, even ending the call on how they’d meet one another on site. Phil had been expecting this, but it made him no less nervous. Last night a meteor landed in New Mexico. A brilliant light show against the dark, the meteor landed with enough force to literally shake the small town of Puente Antiguo and cause the inhabitants to fear for their lives as dislodged earth hurtled from the impact at all angles.

The YouTube videos surfaced only hours later. The dust hadn’t even cleared, it wasn’t even dawn. Brazen men and women braved the edges of the crater, which seemingly stretched up forever due to the loose sand disturbing their climb. Try as they might, they collectively decided that the climb was too risky, and they began their equally dangerous descent. Others drove the length of the crater, getting as close to the edge as dared. Dunes and rocks blocked their path but the drivers managed to swerve around them. A few souls drove atop the dunes closest to the edge—

—and focused in on a large shadow, lightning crackling on its massive form.

During the car ride to the now-buzzing town, Phil replayed the same videos and reread the same news reports. It was all he could do to prepare for the monstrous sight that awaited him.

_It’s No Meteor—So What Is It? Electrified Alien Monster Crash Lands in New Mexico,_ wrote the USA Daily.

_Massive Electric Draconic Extraterrestrial Organism (MEDEO) Lands in Puente Antiguo, NM,_ wrote Huffington.

_The Biblical Wormwood Has Come! Judgment is Near!_ blared a conspiracy site, Past Reality.

_World Governments Abuzz with Recent Extraterrestrial Landing in United States,_ wrote ScienceReport. Of all of the articles, Phil thought with a slight smile, ScienceReport was refreshingly practical about the responses of the more powerful foreign governments.

It was also unfortunate, he amended with a sigh, because S.H.I.E.L.D. has to deal with them.

“So. MEDEO.” Clint Barton sat in the seat behind Phil. “Is that what we’re calling it now? Not eight-o’-four or…Dragalien?”

“MEDEO has a nice ring to it,” Phil humored. “But officially it is Zero-Eight-Four until it tells us otherwise.”

“You think it’s intelligent enough to speak or even understand it’s on another planet?” Their driver, Agent Roderick Haste, flicked his hazel eyes to his superior.

“I don’t know. But it appears to have known it was going to land hard and it prepared for that. Even animals will protect themselves.”

They spent the next half hour of their drive in contemplative silence, the sun glaring into their car from a vibrant blue sky.

Roderick Haste purposefully drove through the wilderness, approaching the crater from the west. At Phil’s request he paused on a rise overlooking the crater and they all exited the car to stare at the humbling and discouraging sight before them.

Roderick whistled and Clint swore nervously.

The crater was ovular in appearance, even from a perspective which warped its true size. Phil estimated a five hundred-foot width at least, with a length more than twice that.

But within the crater lay Dragalien. The largest and most worrisome 0-8-4 S.H.I.E.L.D. now has the pleasure to deal with. It had cocooned itself within its enormous wings in preparation for impact, and it appeared to be unconscious as it hadn’t moved since the discoveries earlier in the morning. Despite this, the extraterrestrial monstrosity was too large to be seen all at once even from their vantage point. But under the uncaring sun the creature shone silver, glinting like metal. Reflected light graced the edges of the crater, static.

Milling about the crater’s edge like ants were numerous S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives. Tents were being built, equipment being ferried inside those that were already completed. A few lines of gunmen were stationed near the edge of the crater, situated atop metal platforms with ladders that were leaning against the edge. Facing the road to the town, perhaps a hundred or so feet away from the activity, were at least a dozen cars. Agents were sitting atop and leaning on the cars, enjoying the desert sun before it becomes too oppressive, ready to intercept any curious busybodies from other towns.

More operatives, Phil knew, were busy evacuating Puente Antiguo. Dragalien, should it wake up anytime soon, could probably decimate the town just by sweeping a wing over it.

“Do you think Fury’s down there?” Phil asked his companions, knowing the answer was likely a negative.

“If he isn’t,” Haste affirmed with a shrug, “I’d imagine he’s bringing friends.”

They reentered the car and drove down towards the camp.

“How close to the edge do you think you can get?” inquired the senior agent. “I’d like a good look at this thing before we talk to the others.”

Roderick hummed and made a lazy left towards the very same dunes the first investigators had to swerve between. But it was clear they weren’t the only ones with the idea. Many S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicles were clustered around a single dune, a trail of indentations in the sand as men and women shuffled up and down. Some were shaking their heads with astonishment, others were pale, and many were stone-faced.

“Encouraging,” Clint mumbled as they stepped onto the sand. “Really. The one threat we can’t contain just _had_ to land on Earth. It couldn’t have been Mars? Mercury? Literally any other solar system would do.”

“Shut _up_ , man,” Roderick hissed.

Phil led the way up the dune, where they stared down at the alien with four other agents.

Dragalien was wrapped up so completely within its wings that not even its feet, if it had any, were visible. Extending from the hidden body were twin tails, coiled about in the dark earth. One tail had a series of thin spines on it—no…they were _blades_ , Phil realized. Dozens of blades lined the last five or so meters of the appendage, but, to Phil’s mounting horror, some of them appeared to be broken and chipped; bare patches amongst the blades implied that some were missing. The other tail had four rows of sickle-like blades, but they were broad and flat like those of axes.

“It’s a weapon.” Phil gazed down at the mysterious creature anew.

“Sent here to kill us?” Agent Grace Fraus, of equal status to Phil, stood a few feet away. By the tone of her voice he knew she’d come to the same conclusion.

Roderick shook his head, but confusion was evident on his face. “Why wait? It had plenty of time to destroy the town and move on.”

“Perhaps it’s remote-controlled?” Clint offered, a truly chilling theory. “Like a video game. The player could be waiting for something, or the cord’s disconnected. Or,” he added with a huff, “they could be fighting over who gets to control the death dragon.”

A small smile formed on Phil’s face but it was gone just as quickly. Who sent MEDEO to Earth, and what were they waiting for? Was it a test to gauge humanity’s strength? An act of pure malevolence? Were there more of these living weapons, and they’d be sent one after the other once this one was somehow destroyed or defeated?

Or, more horrifyingly, was the monstrosity sent with a goal in mind? Perhaps it wasn’t remotely controlled, but akin to a dog told to fetch. Or was it here of its own volition?

Phil Coulson narrowed his eyes. “Let’s go to camp and see what they’ve found.”

By the time they pulled up to an impromptu parking lot a helicopter was only a few meters from the ground and steadily descending. A cloud of sand nearly obscured the machinery from view.

Along with Grace Fraus, Phil and his group watched as the helicopter touched down. From within its interior came Maria Hill, Natasha Romanoff, and the head of S.H.I.E.L.D. himself, Director Nick Fury.

Phil didn’t miss how the infamous Black Widow’s eyes shone with pleasure as her eyes landed on Clint; in turn, he heard Clint shuffle his feet, eager to meet her but the situation demanding otherwise.

The triad passed through the throng of busybodies like a hot knife through butter.

“Good morning, sir,” Phil greeted nonchalantly.

The Director spared him a nod as he walked past. “So, have you seen it?”

“I have, sir,” replied Phil, keeping pace effortlessly while the other lagged behind. He described Dragalien, making sure to use 0-8-4 instead of Clint’s admittedly superior proposed name. “It has yet to unfurl its wings, so we have no idea what it really looks like.”

“So long as it’s asleep.” Director Fury led the way into the largest of the opaque white tents.

Within it were men and women tending to projections and massive computer screens. One, Phil saw, had the day’s worth of air traffic; the woman seated before the screen was telling a plane that was dangerously close to the impact site to veer to a different direction. A man was seated at another screen which showed the live body camera footage of operatives and drones surveying the site; some of the operatives were descending into the crater and nearing the bladed tails while some drones were hovering over silver wings.

The Director stopped before a blonde woman who was staring at a screen which seemed to depict a mesh of the creature, as well as vital signs. “What’ve you got, Olivia?”

Olivia sagged in her chair. “It’s alive, Director Fury.” She moved the cursor to a panel on the screen which measured a steady, heavy, heartbeat. “It seems calm, if only for now. And here—” The cursor moved to the green mesh. “—I estimate it’s length—that is, how it’s all curled up like that—at over two hundred feet at least, but once it unfurls itself I expect that estimation to change dramatically. Weight? Unknown—or rather, _uncalculated_.” She leaned forward and clicked on a tab, on which the disembodied tips of the tails were detailed with stunning accuracy.

Phil’s mounting suspicions of a living bioweapon only grew as he scanned the meshes of the tails and the points of interest. The axe-blades were ribbed with swirling bands of varying color. The knife-like protrusions on the other tails were darker in color but appeared to be made of the same material. However, found amongst the blades of both tails were a variety of chips and lacerations as well as pieces of foreign minerals.

“Its scales—they’re all made of some type of pure titanium,” Olivia continued, her voice high pitched with both interest and disbelief. “It’s metal unlike any on earth. And those blades? Some type of iron like that found in meteorites! It’s almost like this thing was _designed_ for combat!”

Maria Hill pointed to the foreign metallic items, which were depicted as being nearly black in color and dangerously sharp on all sides. “And those?”

“We don’t know. It’s not any mineral found on earth.”

Had Dragalien been fighting a similar creature? Did it retreat to earth as a final resort? _Should we expect its opponent to follow?_

“Do you have any cognitive scans on the zero-eight-four?” continued Hill.

Olivia shook her head, but she went through the tabs anyway. “No, not yet. I’m waiting on the drones to drop sensors as close to the head as possible.”

“Could you go back to the fullbody?” Phil requested, and he studied MEDEO’s form when she did.

A being whose scales were some pure titanium unlike any on earth, whose blades are like iron—what were its bones made of? It had to be something both denser than earth metal but still light enough to allow flight. Phil marveled its wings, how they appeared to be long and broad; how fast could it fly? No doubt Dragalien could outlast dozens of fighter jets when it came to endurance, and the missiles they had would likely just annoy it.

When MEDEO takes to the sky, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent concluded with a barely-audible sigh, they’d just have to pray it wasn’t in the mood to destroy.

A new panel appeared on the screen. It was accompanied by a soft chime.

“Ah!” The technician clicked on the panel and it swelled in size, taking up the whole screen while the other tabs were reduced to small squares on the left. The new screen was divided into three horizontal sections, two of which were seemingly more active than the third. Olivia shook her head and an expression akin to horror formed on her face. “Oh…”

Director Fury narrowed his eyes and everyone around him tensed. “What?”

“S-sir…” She gestured to the scans. “It…appears to have multiple heads, sir. Three, I think.” Olivia moved the cursor over the two more active sections. “These two are asleep, dreaming. But this one…” The cursor moved to the least active scan. “It’s awake. Alert. It likely knows we’re here.”

* * *

It was the impact onto rock that jarred Thor from unconsciousness. The right and left heads of his brothers, Loki and Balder respectively, were coiled up on their chest and belly, ignorant of his mental, almost desperate urges to wake up. The middle head resigned himself to a waiting game, something he wasn’t fond of outside of war but tolerated for his brothers’ sake.

He dared not sigh. Above and around him he felt an ever-shifting mass of pinpricks of electricity. Not only that, but he felt the buzz of technology as well. The last thing he wanted to do was announce his wakefulness, to stand to his full height under the sun without his brothers to share in the glory of being feared.

Not that he wanted to attack them. No, fear and awe was enough from the primitive peoples of the Nine Realms; built for war he was, but Thor did not take pleasure in unnecessary bloodshed. But if the mortals threw the first spear, Thor personally wouldn’t mind smashing a building or dozen in warning.

No, the middle head wanted to return home. Once Prince Jord woke up in his glorious entirety, he’d just summon the Bifrost, return to Asgard, and resume battle for the Asgardian throne.

Until his brothers woke up, Thor amused himself with the goings-on of the mortals surrounding him.

There were a few dozen by his tails, riding within the bellies of strange electrical animals. On those walking heartbeats the Prince sensed small devices humming a constant electrical tune. By his wings were sets of flying technology, their wings a constant buzz. Thor wondered what they were looking for as they buzzed about his body like blood bees searching for wound.

The majority of the heartbeats were clustered around them, along with the majority of their technology. Thor picked out dormant technology meant to fly: a few in the shape of bird’s heads and the rest in the shapes of birds locked in a glide.

Truly a primitive people! Why don’t they have machines that manipulate their Realm’s magnetic field in order to fly? If not that, surely they have a renewable power source that functioned as both an engine and a source of local levitation?

Oh, Loki would spend a great deal of time assessing these people. During treasured times of peace the Prince made himself invisible and soared the skies, creating raven-puppets to get closer to the inhabitants without warnings being blared through cattle horns or sounded through drums. He’d pilot the birds through cities, onto technology, and into places of work. It served the Prince well when he made avatars that mimicked the former inhabitants of Asgard.

When the sky went dark, his brothers finally stirred. Balder groaned.

Thor sensed all mortal activities come to a standstill but he ignored them. He slightly unfurled their wings to allow fresh air to waft through their noses, making sure the mortals would not see them in such an un-prince-like position. _How do you feel?_ the middle head asked, mentally prodding at their brains in search of trauma.

_I feel the weight of defeat,_ growled Balder, his mind replaying the final moments of their fight with the Queen and their following, unintentional, banishment.

_I am furious, Thor,_ Loki replied at the same time, his deep blue eyes burning. _I see your mind, brother; we must not go back. Not now. The Queen will expect that._

Prince Jord uncoiled his three necks, rolling to his massive feet and wings as his tails slid to a more comfortable position. Shouts filled the air as the mortals scurried into defense positions, no doubt reaching for their technological equivalent of bows and arrows. The Prince felt the first volley of thunderous shots as annoying pricks of pressure on his necks and back.

There was a vibrating flutter inside Loki’s mind that matched his grin. He brought up the middle head’s casual promise to level a small village’s worth of buildings in retaliation for such action. _Where is your bravado, brother?_

_I see your mind, Loki,_ Thor repeated, warning the mortals with a low hiss. _You want us to need them._ Not now, of course—they wanted to explore Midgard, the only Realm the Queen had not invaded and subjugated merely for her own amusement, to watch them grow before annihilating them and colonizing the planet.

But so far it seemed like that idea was going to backfire on her. The Midgardians seem well-versed in science, mathematics, and physics, even if the technology that show for it is primitive in structure. It’s only a matter of generations until they, too, will have starmaps and even planets of their own.

Prince Jord ignored the bullets to his body and walked along the floor of the crater until the walls were no long restrictive. He ignored the pinpricks of pressure necks and wings, but Balder allowed lightning to crackle between his teeth when the Midgardians were brazen enough to start shooting at his face. Even calm Loki warned the natives with a deadly glare.

_Bold,_ observed Balder. _Dangerously so._

Thor gave a flicker of agreement. Were the Prince in a sour mood, these mortals would already be dead, little more than charred corpses and scraps of metal.

_Annoying,_ Loki affirmed. _But we will use their confidence._

Prince Jord stood to his full height once he was free to do so, relishing how numerous heartbeats paused and speed up. He spread his wings in preparation for flight.

Yggdrasil called to him. East northeast. The land around the roots of the Tree would serve as their new, though temporary, home.

Prince Jord crouched, his wings lifted high above him. With his powerful legs he pushed himself off the earth in a cloud of sand, his massive titanium wings driving him into the sky. To avoid any aerial machines following him—which, he had to admit, was far more likely in this Realm than in most others—the Prince bent the light around him to render himself invisible.

Under the clear sky the land shrank as the Prince ascended, aiming for the edge of the atmosphere so he could travel unimpeded. Soon he leveled out, steadily beating his wings to gain speed. Radiation sank into his scales, providing him both food and energy. Prince Jord allowed the invisibility to fade; no need for it in the shadows of space.

Balder watched the world go by; Loki studied the many metal contraptions hundreds of miles away; Thor stared ahead. Together the Prince saw his environment, missing nothing, unable to be surprised.

It was when they crossed the world’s terminator into dawn that disgust rattled within the right head’s mind. _Why clutter their skies with such filth?_ But Loki continued to watch, enraptured by a satellite that was larger and longer than the others with multiple panels extending from it.

Balder huffed, steam billowing from his mouth. _Perhaps I should have watched the sky and you the land. Their cities were like beacons. Do you think they even know what stars are?_

Thor craned his neck and saw the item of Loki’s fascination. None of the other realms had anything like this. Not even Asgard, the most advanced of them all.

Prince Jord angled himself towards the strange artifact. He put up a shield around himself so that the smaller metallic scraps were harmlessly moved from his path.

The item—a massive ship-like machine, perhaps a living area—was moving fast. Far from light speed, obviously, but fast enough to orbit the blue planet multiple times in a day. The Prince altered his speed first to catch up to it, then to match it.

Prince Jord’s heads kept a safe distance as he studied the contraption. From noses to tailtips, he was obviously longer than the massive silver machine, and his wingspan dwarfed it entirely in width. The flat protrusions either reflected the nothingness of space, the blinding light of the sun, or his own scales. It appeared to be comprised of cylinders upon cylinders and wide disks to provide chambers.

Thor lowered his head over one end of the long machine, gazing at two Midgardians dressed in fat white suits with rectangular sacks upon their backs. From their suits flowed long tubes connected to the satellite-ship. Through black, glinting visors they stared at him, hearts racing. Like offspring onto their mother they hung to the surrounding metal, shaking ever so slightly.

The middle head reached out to them mentally. The Midgardians stiffened, surprised, as Thor impressed upon them his curiosity, benevolence, and strange excitement he felt towards them for building a ship whose only anchor to Midgard was the planet’s gravity. He made sure that, although the natives could feel Loki and Balder’s minds and emotions, his own thoughts were foremost.

As Thor pulled his head away his mind left them. He stared down in the direction Yggdrasil’s pull was coming from. _Let’s go,_ he told his brothers, and the Prince continued on.

He was led to a land that bordered the planet’s northernmost body of water. This time, in addition to invisibility, the Prince made himself intangible so his body wouldn’t distort the billowing clouds.

Seaside cliffs and grassland stretched out towards the horizon, loosely webbed with silvery paths that led up to wooden houses and small communal areas. The Prince counted only a dozen mortals walking on these silver paths. A larger, darker path wound about from the edge of the land, snaking towards and scattering into a dreary town located on a conveniently flat, stony shore.

And it was from this town that Prince Jord felt Yggdrasil’s call.

He soared over sea and land, circling like a vulture.

Balder snaked his head down. _Shall we land there—_ he sent his brothers an image of a nearby cliff devoid of Midgardian activity _—and wait for nightfall? Or act now?_

Thor considered the question. Acting now seemed the best course of action if they hid themselves from Midgardian perception, but intangibility was best left for flying through inanimate objects, like soaring through an asteroid field. Once they received their information, however, the cloaking must be dropped, and they must deal with the screams. Waiting until nightfall meant losing valuable time, but at least they won’t have to deal with too much mortal intervention…until their work begins, that is.

Prince Jord reared back into a hover over the town. Thor stared directly down at the location he was sure Yggdrasil was: a church. It was so old it seemed to be melting from the top down, but this did not deter a little pack of mortals, who entered into the structure.

They will wait. No need to panic the mortals.

So he settled on the cliff, all the while shielded from mortal perception, and curled his tails under each tucked wing. Around him he sensed the heartbeats of animals and Midgardians alike. Inside the town there were thirteen mortals, buzzing about as they attended to their duties; on the paths were the dozen; and resting and seeping in the cabins were a dozen more.

_Not as numerous as it could’ve been,_ Balder observed dismissively. _But I think it best we put up a barrier to avoid any disturbances later._

_Agreed,_ replied the right head, remembering the welcome committee in the land to the east. _Next time I might just shoot a bolt of lightning. Not to kill, of course._

Thor nodded and said at the same time, _Aye. A benign barrier that will allow them to leave, but not to enter._

Not at all confused by the unison of two different statements, the left and right heads gave their assent. Prince Jord collected his magic and seamlessly created an invisible shield seven miles in diameter. Later he’ll have to increase the shield and add malignant conditions—after all, one royal attacking another was something that would not, _could not_ , go unfinished.

Checking that his barrier was locked into place, Thor and Balder coiled their necks upon their back. _You will take the first watch, Loki,_ said the middle head. _You may wake up whomever in a few hours._

Loki hummed and turned his glacier blue eyes onto the little town.


	2. 0-8-4: Prince Jord of Asgard Pt2

A cloud of sand rose into the air only to disperse as it fell back to earth. The monstrosity shimmered away into nothing but the thunderous beat of its wings faded into the distance with every second.

Men and women collapsed onto the sand or onto one another, hands over their hearts, and laughing nervously. Gunmen shook their heads in astonishment. At once countless murmuring voices filled the cool night air.

“I can’t—what was—”

“Did you see how _massive_ it was?”

“Our guns did _nothing_ —”

“Well.” Clint scratched at his head. “That was…something.”

“It certainly was,” agreed Nick Fury, turning around and carefully skidding down the dune they were standing on. While Clint and Natasha remained behind, the Director, Phil, Maria, and Fraus went back to the observation tent and ordered satellite data on Dragalien’s location.

“Do you think it’ll attack all the cities it comes across?” Maria Hill inquired. Her eyes searched the screens as if she could force them to reveal Dragalien’s location.

Fury shook his head as he studied the data. The monstrosity was nowhere to be found. “It seems content to flee and hide. For now. All we can do is anticipate its next move and dispatch men wherever it lands.”

Hill nodded. “I’ll lead a recovery team to search the crater.”

“Have drones scan the floor of the crater,” commanded the Director to the agents who piloted the drones.

Phil watched as dark screens came to life, replaced with multiple livestreams of agents, all sitting and standing around as they collected themselves and inspected their weaponry. The videos slowly lifted off the ground and flicked on blinding white-blue lights as they steadily glided over the edges of the crater. White light bathed the sedimentary walls of the crater, searching for smaller, non-living 0-8-4s that may have been embedded in the earth.

A few of the drones accompanied Hill and her team of four manned vehicles, casting their lights off to the side of the search party. As a necessary precaution the team was dressed in protective suits.

As they drove into the crater and leveled out on the bottom, Hill’s electrified voice commanded, “Spread out and step lightly. We don’t know what came down with it.” Men carefully exited the vehicles and flicked on their flashlights, checking their every step. More of the black material was collected—one shard was as large as a man’s head. In addition to the black mineral were broken pieces of the tailblades, the largest so massive Fury ultimately decided the scientists could evaluate it where it lay. The rest of the items were carefully packaged and placed in the trucks.

Along the lower center wall, where Dragalien’s back had been, was a dark, almost shimmering substance. It looked slick and dry at the same time. The Director alerted Hill to the substance and she called a group of men to join her in assessing and swabbing the substance for collection and study.

“It’s like oil, Director,” Hill told the watching party. “It displays a faint, rainbow-like sheen in the light.”

Through the cameras the sheen wasn’t very visible, instead replaced with the glare of the light.

“Take as many swabs as you can,” Fury told her.

For the next thirty minutes they watched the team comb the grounds again until Maria called it in. As the team loaded themselves up into the trucks an agent came in, stone-faced.

“Director, sir.” The man was built like a tank and boasted a deep baritone. Harris had once been a mercenary, Coulson recalled, but was personally offered a job and protection by Nick Fury. It was an offer he was all too eager to accept. “We intercepted three unarmed civilians at the western perimeter. They wanted their lab equipment returned to them.”

Oh, that sounded all too familiar. Coulson had been sent out to Puente Antiguo to deal with a trio of scientists who defiantly refused the order for evacuation. Not only that, but they were insistent that they remain in the town to study atmospheric phenomenon. Once the redhead, Jane Foster, had revealed she’d predicted the event which brought Dragalien to Earth, Coluson had their research packed and brought back to the temporary base. As far as he knew, the trio had accurately predicted the locations and times of the last seventeen occurrences, and technicians were still evaluating their work more than eight hours later.

Fury sighed and stood. “Where are they being held?”

“We have them under guard at the perimeter, Director.”

“Good. Make them comfortable. Coulson and I would like to speak with them.”

Dismissed, Harris nodded and left the tent.

Fury and Coulson waited a few seconds before leaving the illuminated darkness of the tent. Above them the stars shone through ribbons of hazy clouds. All around were floodlights, beaming onto the sand, and innumerable bodies of agents milling about to perform their duties.

"I am putting you in charge of the alien’s observation. Once it lands I’m sending you out, along with Barton, Romanoff, and Haste, and a first contact team. Whatever it does and says will be logged and sent to Hill in a weekly report. Should it become aggressive, _do not_ engage. Just give it space—return to the States if you have to.”

“Sir.” 

“And while you’re doing that,” the Director added with an amused tone, “I have men to recruit.”

Sitting on the sand, surrounded by no less than ten agents, was the trio of scientists. Upon seeing them Jane rose to her feet, no doubt ready to demand her life’s work, but her colleagues urged her back to the sand as the guards—all living brick walls—focused on her.

“Ms. Foster, Ms. Lewis, and Mr. Sevig!” Fury greeted, spreading out his hands. “It’s nice to finally meet. I’ve seen your work—it’s quite impressive.”

Jane’s face tightened, her eyes flicking between Coulson and Fury. “Where is it?”

“And my iPod!” added Ms. Lewis, Jane’s intern. “Can you bring that too? And—”

“Darcy, _really,_ could you j—”

Selvig’s nervous, placating voice cut through the women’s bickering. “Sir! This is all a big misunderstanding. If you could just allow us to leave, we’ll evacuate the town like we should have _hours ago_ —” his eyes narrowed upon the seething redhead before returning to the Director, “—and let you work.”

Fury arched a knowing brow. “Now, it’s to my understanding that you knew of the atmospheric phenomena which brought the alien to earth. You counted seventeen prior instances of it, down to the location, down to the _second_. Regarding this specific time,” he questioned, his voice taking on a calculating undertone, “were you aware of the alien within it?”

“N-no?” Darcy’s face wrinkled with genuine confusion as she tilted her head away. “Why would we? Wait—you’ve seen it? Like, up close and personal?”

“How could we have known?” snapped Jane at the same time, her anger somewhat overcome with confusion.

“I have a job for you. You will accompany Agent Coulson here in observing the alien. With your equipment and ours you’ll be able to track the atmospheric events with greater accuracy. Should another alien show up, we trust you to tell us the where and when.”

Coulson studied the scientists in a new light. Should the next alien fall from the sky, at least the world would receive a moment’s notice and prepare for potential 500-foot, multi-headed hostiles.

“No way.” Fury had Darcy’s full attention. Excitement was plain on her face, akin to a child gazing upon her favorite toy.

Selvig stammered a response. His confusion quickly turned to horror. “No—no we can’t—sir—Jane! We can just build another lab!”

“We can’t just buy our parts at Radio Shack!” she snapped at him. “We accept! When do we leave?”

“You can’t be serious!”

“Whenever it lands,” Fury answered, cutting through Selvig’s protests. “Think of it this way, Mr. Selvig: You’re helping Earth defend itself against more potential hostiles. Should the next alien be malevolent, at least an army will be there to intercept it. No one should sleep with the weight of knowing they were responsible for the deaths of thousands simply because they refused to help.”

The man’s face went red.

“Well…” Darcy gave Selvig a sidelong glance. “He’s _kinda_ right, y’know.”

“Wonderful.” The Director turned to Coulson and placed a hand on his shoulder. “They’re all yours.”

An hour later, not long after Phil had debriefed the newfound members of his team on the nature of Dragalien, he was called to the main observation tent. The three-headed dragon had reappeared on radar at an altitude of over 6,000 miles—it was at the edge of the atmosphere. Flying at a few hundred miles an hour, it coasted east northeast. At that speed it would clear the States in less than five hours.

“At this angle,” a technician reported to the assembled group, “the o’-eight-four’s headed to the southern tip of Greenland, then to Europe, then to northern Russia.”

Darcy swore. Jane was busy studying Dragalien’s information and Erik stared, wide eyed, at the stills of the monster.

“This came down from the sky?” Jane sounded breathless. “That’s what the meteor was? How did we _not know?”_ During the briefing Jane had been clear with Coulson that her equipment only tracks the atmospheric disturbances, not any items—or monsters—that were carried with it. However, Darcy let lose immediately afterwards that they were outside in their van that night, ready to capture film for the disturbance, only to flee for their lives when they realized something was falling.

Erik stepped back from the stills, turning his head to catch Coulson’s eye. “So…do you—do _we_ know where it came from?”

“No,” replied the agent. “It simply appeared.”

“Like, _in_ our atmosphere?” Darcy clarified. “NASA didn’t even warn us that it was coming? No government went into lockdown and prepared for the apocalypse?”

“If they knew,” Jane added absently as she took fervent notes in a pocket notebook, “the whole world would be on lockdown.”

“We’ll be on lockdown anyway.” Erik crossed his arms and frowned. “No doubt _everyone’s_ watching that thing on satellite. And we’ll be held responsible for not keeping it contained. The American government, I mean.”

They spent the next few hours preparing for its inevitable landing. The scientists were charged with the organization and packaging of their lab equipment into a Quinjet; Clint handpicked his best gunmen while Natasha and her teams began to sort through various weaponry for packaging and shipment.

“While we’re at it,” Phil muttered to himself, garnering the attention of a few agents to his sides; he turned to the agent to his left, a woman, and said, “Put out an order to all agents worldwide. Tell them to be on alert for any suspicious activity. Whatever catches their attention is sent straight to me.”

She dipped her head, her loose curls bobbing, and set off for the communications tent.

It was close to 2 am when Coulson received a call. A Helicarrier named _Murphy_ was being prepared for him. All he needed to do was go to Maine at his convenience.

At the same time Dragalien left the planet’s atmosphere. Frantic searching again revealed nothing on its location.

Phil set his jaw. No point in waiting. They were leaving for Maine.

* * *

Loki found the little town far too interesting to be traded in for blank stasis. So interesting, in fact, that he sent four ravens gliding in between the buildings and over the gray merchant-road in search of more information. And for a while he lost himself in the maze of paths and buildings.

For such a large little town, it was disappointingly empty. The Midgardians were spaced out in such a way that Loki was sure his ravens saw all of them at once in different sectors of the town. They were all wearing bright yellow fabrics over their normal clothing as if the town had a dress code.

He set about gathering information, purposefully perching his beloved birds above the Midgardians in hopes of catching treasured information. It was mostly personal conversations—one of which appeared to be as tangled as palace whispers, _oh my_ —but soon the right head found the information he was looking for.

It came in the form of a medium-sized rectangle held on its side, its front screen glowing bright with a moving image. Three Midgardians were craned over it like a family witnessing the hatching of its newest member.

Reported the moving image, a human male dressed sharply and speaking with authority, _“—st’s location unknown at the current moment. The world’s leaders are taking great measures to equip their militaries and watch their skies for any sign of movement. Families are fighting for water and other necessities as they bunker down and even evacuate to military posts throughout the world.”_

Loki nodded at that, though once his own plans come to light these families will have to evacuate again.

_“Now, what can we expect from this unprecedented first contact situation?”_

And the man-in-the-machine droned on through a few scenarios, ranging from plausible to hilariously insane. But then he voiced the worst and most likely option: _“But what if this is an act of war?”_

Loki sighed as he arched his neck back, dissipating his ravens. Eventually Queen Fenris will grow tired of waiting for his dramatic reappearance to continue their fight. Once she learns of his location, she will gather her army of the loyal living and the mindless undead and initiate her long-awaited invasion.

And the Midgardians would be like ants: destroyed in terrifyingly creative ways for the crime of existing. Those who survive will wish they didn’t once they were reduced to slaves.

The right head snorted through his nose, his crown slightly flared. Midgard didn’t survive to become one of the most technologically advanced Realms just to be destroyed for the amusement of a genocidal tyrant. Loki wouldn’t let that happen— _Prince Jord_ wouldn’t let that happen…but Midgard’s survival was completely dependent upon their adherence to Loki’s plan.

A small smile formed at the corners of his lips. He need not lie for this one; every truth about Fenris would likely seem exaggerated anyway.

Loki felt his brothers stir when the last of the sunlight dimmed into that wonderful, familiar darkness, broken only by the paltry light of the waxing crescent moon. By now the Midgardians had either left or retired into their wooden shelters. _Evening, brothers,_ he greeted as they yawned and uncoiled their necks. Through their neurons Loki recapped his day and the knowledge he’d gathered.

Interest flared in their minds. Balder took the memory of the man-in-the-machine and reviewed it. _He is **so** dangerously close to the truth._

 _It’s good that they’re gathering their warriors,_ Thor mused, turning his head inland as if he could see the thousands of mortal men and women brandishing their weapons. _But it will not be enough._

 _Of course not._ Balder scowled. _They’ll be slaughtered on sight._

 _Let’s provide a place for them, for these people at least,_ offered Loki, gaining his brothers’ attention. _Once we check in with Heimdall, we build a castle not only for ourselves, but for those who cannot fight, and for their warriors to flee to as necessary. It will build trust and make them more likely to follow our plans._

Six blue eyes scanned the surrounding land. Save for a single brave soul wandering about a small path between cabins, the land was devoid of activity. Inside the wooden shelters were exactly twenty-three heartbeats, most steady as if in sleep.

Well, they’re going to be awake soon.

The Prince, still unable to be perceived by the natives, made his way down to Yggdrasil. With every step his scales prickled with unease, with excitement—how was Asgard? Had Fenris already sounded the drums of war? Was she already on her way? Who were her allies? How were _his_ supporters? Were they integrated into her mindless horde?

The distance between the church and the Prince seemed to grow larger with every step; the seconds that ticked by stretched into minutes and hours. But, finally, three slender necks were craned over the presence of the Tree, and three large heads stared down into the depths of the structure.

A single pine tree grew within the structure, so tall it just barely crested the aged, crumbling opening of the tower. Yggdrasil’s power flowed from the pine. Powerful, intoxicating, familiar.

The hydra lowered his middle head onto the tree, nostrils flaring as the needles pricked at sensitive scales.

Surging through his neurons was only one request: to see Asgard.

And he could, his view framed by the dazzling black void and by a fractal rainbow. At the same time he gazed down upon the whole of the space-faring island continent. Oceans, cold lands, deserts, and all.

It was just as beautiful and as expansive as he remembered.

Valaskjalf was not only the golden palace reaching into the eternal void, but it consisted of the connected cities as well. Arching entrances opened up to decorated hallways and vast chambers. Balconies stretched out from some of the entrances while others were the tops of chambers beneath, some adorned with statues in dynamic poses and others serving as crystal or plant gardens. Many residences—the dwellings of not only aristocrats and ambassadors from the other towns on Asgard, but the roosts of lower class Titans as well—glowed from within, the shadows of titans moving about as necessary.

So far, the hydra thought, the continent showed no signs of rushed activity.

Everything was wonderfully, disturbingly still.

Miles above the highest levels and towers of the palace, where the royal family and the highest aristocrats lived, was a dark figure, circling like a vulture.

Should he close in on her?

No, what if she notices?

Ridiculous. But don’t do it, just in case.

Instead he turned his attention to one who had been patiently waiting to be acknowledged.

“Greetings, my prince.” Heimdall’s telepathic link held only the slightest shimmer of relief. The dragon sat at the very entrance of the observatory, immobile and unblinking. Levitating before him was Holfund, his sword and the key to the Bifrost. “I am pleased you are alive.”

 _Greetings, Gatekeeper,_ replied three voices in musical harmony. _I, too, am pleased. How is everything?_

The Gatekeeper turned his divine sight to the Queen. Her black body blotted out the stars in rhythmic succession as she glided upon the stellar winds, her tail streaming out behind her. A serene expression upon her wolfish face concealed all the tortuous plans brewing in that hideous mind.

“She awaits your return,” he said.

One part of the Prince was smug. _I plan to stay and prepare Midgard for war._

“That is wise of you, my prince. Many nobles have convened since your departure; they have revived the plans of King Gungnir to conquer and colonize Midgard. Queen Fenris has yet to hear of their propositions.”

_How do my supporters fare? How are Sif, Brunnhilde, and the Warriors Three?_

“They live,” came the solemn reply, “but many have been killed for their loyalty to you. Lady Sif and the Warriors Three lead the survivors under the Queen’s constant watch, while Brunnhilde currently resides on Vanaheim.”

The Prince mulled over the information for a moment, fighting grief and remorse, and then said, _Tell Brunnhilde to rally the Valkyries for battle if she has not already done so. Send a messenger to Sif and the Warriors Three that, when the time comes, they must arrive with Fenris and seek me. I will build a castle here as both my signal and as a residence for them._

It was a fledgling’s desire, but the Prince would have preferred it if his supporters all came to him as soon as possible. Unfortunately, the Bifrost’s constant activity would alert not only the warlord nobles, but the brutal Allmother as well. And if Midgard was to survive this with even half of its population remaining, they needed all the time in the Nine Realms to prepare.

_Anything else to report, Gatekeeper?_

“Not as of now, Prince Jord.”

 _Very well._ His emotions reemerged like a fresh wave of warriors, and the Prince struggled to remain calm. _We shall talk again._

Darkness.

Prince Jord stepped back from the church, trembling, seething, grieving. What was he _thinking_ , attacking her like that? How many were slaughtered for his mistake?

Above him the sky had thickened, flickering and rumbling, ready to burn and destroy at the command of its master. When the hydra had calmed once more, he dispelled his storm with a mere thought.

The Prince sighed and stood tall.

He had a castle to build and a planet to warn.

But first, he reminded himself as he pulled away from the church, he had Midgardians to relocate. One head glanced towards the rocky hill he had roosted on and flickered a question to the others. It would be rude of the Prince to wrench them from their dreams and have them congregate outside without shelter. Perhaps it would be best to build them a residence within the cliff?

Yes, that would be very polite of him, wouldn’t it?

He marched to the cliff, three minds deliberating upon the interior design. Most of the Midgardians had left the barrier; twenty-four remained. Surely the residence will need only the same number of chambers?

Best to increase that number.

The chambers, he decided, would be simple, and extravagant, all at once. They would have a little castle of their own, complete with private bathing pools, personal watering holes, balconies, and little alcoves for desks or beds. Each chamber would be spacious, giving any fledglings they have ample space to run while still under the watchful eye of their parents.

Prince Jord sat down and got comfortable. The order may be minimal, yes, but it still required effort and concentration to mold everything to his desires.

After a deep breath to clear his mind, the royal collected his magic and sent it out of his body and into the earth—

—and nearly reeled back when it exploded out of his control. He gritted his teeth as he struggled to get it back under his will; by the time he did, his magic had expanded into a miles-wide diameter around him.

He ignored his heavy breathing, his trembling muscles.

How interesting. _That_ had never happened before.

Gathering a chunk his magic, Prince Jord precisely molded it into the numerous chambers, hallways, and towers he’d planned for the little castle. The ground warped and shifted as if it were fluid, steadily flattening itself in preparation. Dreary gray stone rose to the surface, becoming pathways and towers; grass and soil was pushed off to the side to become gardens or simply part of the land.

As the castle grew, so did the Prince’s insider’s view. Not only did he witness the castle forming from his position before it, but he could also see every individual room, every hallway, as they were formed. Once the exterior was finished, Prince Jord focused upon adding flair to the dark interior.

Balder pulled an Asgardian crystal from their nullspace and planted it within the grounds, stretching and multiplying it so that it bloomed from the ceilings of every chamber. Dim bright blue light pierced the shadows. More crystals sprouted along the walkway, growing into tall poles with bulbous tops. These shone a little brighter, enough to leave pools of light around them.

Loki organized soil into shallow pits of various sizes and planted in them Alfheim flowers. Once the gardens were completed the right head placed more soil in the drinking and bathing basins of each chamber. However, instead of flowers, he planted a generous amount of waterweeds, all genetically modified to purify and freshen water to the highest degree. That finished, he collected water from the sea, dissolved the salt into nothingness, and pooled it into the basins.

Thor grew pine and oak trees from Vanaheim. Tall and noble, and crooked and thick, the trees marked the various entrances into the castle, and stood like sentinels over the long stone pathway and its poles.

One more thing. One part of the Prince did not approve of how…dull…the stone was. On Nidavellir, he remembered, some tribes of dwarves built their cities out of a beautiful white rock that was somewhat translucent. That, he decided, would be the element to bring the entire castle together, to make it fit for residence.

The change was quick; dreary gray stone shimmered and faded to a beautiful, pristine white.

It was finished.

Now to wake up said mortals.

As he did with the white-suited Midgardians in space, the Prince extended his minds across the land until he pressed gently up against twenty-three more. Some were suspended in the blissful void of stasis; others had lost themselves in the surreal constructs of their dreams, both wonderful and horrendous.

But one was awake, buzzing with a smooth stream of words and action-packed images. In an instant the stream broke, replaced with fear and confusion as they swelled and flashed about in his mind. As he panicked, the dream next to him burst, and _her_ mind began to flail too.

Prince Jord latched onto their thoughts and calmed them, not to render them obedient slaves but merely to have a conversation untainted by terror.

 _I am not here to harm you,_ he impressed. The couple could not understand his words, but they felt his intent and saw the images he sent. _You cannot stay in this wooden residence. I built for you a minor castle on a cliff nearby. Gather your items and go there._

Even when calm, their minds burned with hesitation; but after a moment they conceded, pulling themselves out of bed.

Prince Jord left them and focused on the rest, cloaking himself in the process.

In pairs, in triads, in multitudes, the mortals shot back and forth between the cabins and their beetle-looking machines of various sizes and shapes; one by one the machines purred and growled to life.

The hydra stepped aside, clearing a path for the first of the contraptions as they crept though the land and towards the castle. Warily, like burrowing prey checking the skies for hawks, the Midgardians left the smooth shells of their beetles and stepped out into the cool night.

 _Please hurry,_ he said, touching everyone’s consciousness as gently as possible and imbuing them with a minor sense of urgency. _Once you have chosen your rooms, I shall teleport your beds into them._

Once they were all settled, Prince Jord did exactly as he proposed.

Now it was time for the real project.

He took off and circled over a large swath of the land, debating upon the internal structure of the Asgardian section of the castle and correcting his course as necessary. The good news was that it functioned more as a beacon than as an actual residence—he had no need to go wild with the design, not when his people weren’t expected to live within the stone walls for more than a month at most.

Assuming the war would last even half as long.

When three mental images came together without fault, the Prince landed and got to work.

Milky white stone replaced gray as matter stretched and flowed to the surface. Steadily, a brilliant structure rose to existence, stretching higher, longer, until it seemed to take up the horizon. Even though he engaged with his work at a moderate pace so as to avoid being overwhelmed, Prince Jord still took frequent breaks once he realized he was struggling to remain focused.

Such was the cost of building structures of immense size: lack of concentration. One could always lose themselves to the interior view and struggle to return to their own mind, hence why the higher-ranked Titans always called upon terraforming crews to complete their large-scale projects while they oversaw the construction.

At long last, his portion of the castle was done. By now the crescent moon was perhaps at its peak.

There would be three sections for Midgardians, he decided, all connected to this end of the castle. He took comfort in that he could repeat the design of the smaller castle. The Prince delighted himself with creating public and secret gardens, forming public pools and watering holes, filling the darkness with the gentle shine of crystals, and manifesting trees to guard the various entrances into the sectors. He even formed bridges to connect the higher floors. 

It so delighted him, in fact, that he was surprised and mildly sorrowful to see that he was finished.

 _It may be unlikely,_ mused Balder, his eyes locking on to the small castle, _but perhaps one of them may know where their ruler is directly housed._ He could see quite a few spectators standing at the various windows of their suites.

So the hydra touched the minds of the little mortals, presenting to them that very question. And in their minds were flashes of a magnificent structure with a highly decorated interior, and images of a regal man dressed in a dark suit with a colorful sash and golden medals. They respected him, loved him, feared for him.

King Raimond of Norway.

* * *

How could he sleep when his nation, _his people_ , were constantly under threat of annihilation? Although he and the available members of his Council have already given the order to bolster the army, the King did not have much hope. Its length, from heads to tails, measured a hundred and eighty meters, and its wingspan nearly doubled that amount. As a man was to an ant, so was the beast to him.

Not for the first time that day, a cold, indescribable grief befell him.

The King wandered aimlessly through the ornate halls, glancing out every other window he passed as if the creature would materialize right outside. Sleep had long ago been overruled by anxiety, by stress, and walking as all he could do to bring some semblance of peace to his mind.

Oslo Palace was on lockdown, as if the creature would understand this. He himself and his family, as well as his Council, had all been advised to keep to the bedrooms. The twisting in his gut had caused him to defy that order.

Windows passed in a mindless blur. He stared out towards Karl Johans gate, taking in muted colors and the glittering black mass that was the landscape—

Something…indescribable…touched his mind. A warmth, a tingling, seemed to push at his forehead, as if awaiting permission for entry, and then enveloped his mind in the way waves envelope a rock on the beach.

He stared out into the scenery yet his mind registered only a black void swirling with three colors: brilliant white, sharp blue, vibrant emerald. The colors swirled and coalesced into one another, but, the King knew the instant he saw them, they were three separate consciousnesses, three yet one all at the same time.

And he knew, with a shiver, that they— _he_ —were studying him.

His own visage manifested in his mind, standing proud and regal as he did for the photoshoot only a few months back for the magazines. The colors flickered and flashed; they “spoke” his name and his nation. Then the lights flickered again, introducing themselves with great pride as Prince Jord of Asgard.

King Raimond was frozen to the spot.

Prince Jord seemed to recognize this; the King’s body relaxed as a wave of calm and peace passed over him, though he did not fail to sense the urgency that came with it.

An image filled his mind. She—for it _was_ female—had an earless wolf’s head, and protruding from her head were black, angular protrusions that vaguely mimicked antlers. The…quills that replaced fur reminded King Raimond of metal. An eerie green glow emanated from the image, but it was unlike the beautiful emerald of the Prince. No, this green promised death and endless malevolence.

This…monstrosity…wanted Earth, and she was willing to kill off all life on the planet in order to reshape Earth to her desires.

The Prince held no illusions, however. If the Queen succeeds in taking Earth, it would only pave the way for her to become a galactic conqueror, killing merely for the fun of it.

He had a plan, but he wanted the whole world to know. To the south, by the little town by the sea—Old Tønsberg—he “rose up” a castle. King Raimond was to go there, and he was to tell the world’s leaders to come. They had until the full moon to be settled within the castle, and on the following day Prince Jord would hold an audience and explain everything.

“Wait,” King Raimond said. “I need witnesses so that I am not treated as a fool by my own men.”

He felt the Prince’s assent.

Now there was more energy in his step. Whereas the corridor was once a monotonous blur, now everything couldn’t pass by fast enough in his search for even a guard within the halls.

No, not a guard. His Council!

King Raimond knocked on the doors he passed, ignoring the confused and even indignant responses of men and women. He went back and woke up his own Queen—blessedly kind, selfless, and garbed in a beautiful light ice blue robe—before meeting up with the members of his Council.

“I choose these people,” he said, ignoring the concerned stares, “to be my witnesses.”

Henrik Osterholt, the Prime Minister, exchanged a worried glance with Jonathan Sollie, who oversaw the Kingdom’s finances. But before any could speak, they all went still, eyes wide and searching for the source of the alien force overwhelming them.

A fluttering weight lightened and swelled in their minds—the Prince was chuckling. However, he gave them no time to speak as he explained his instructions once more. Some of the Councilmen flinched upon seeing the Queen while others clenched their jaws with determination.

The Prince suggested moving not only some of their army into the castle, but civilians as well. Food and water, comfort items, weapons. Once the invasion starts, no place will be safe from the rampage of excited warlords and the Queen’s allies. There is a shield surrounding not only the castle but the lands surrounding it; many miles in diameter, it will allow entry and exit of all the Prince’s allies, but enemies will be destroyed on contact, so those within the castle need not fear destruction so long as the Prince lives.

He paused for questions.

“Before…this,” began the Minister of Defense, Audhild Wolden, “we greatly feared you. We believed you to be an enemy who knows no morality, and so our troops were given the order to destroy you by any means necessary. Does this not make us, and by extension, the world, your enemy?”

Everyone nodded in agreement, waiting anxiously for the response.

Such precautions were understandable, replied the lights. Images of other beings, multiheaded and mythical, and humanoid and muscular, filled their minds. They were displayed in various dynamic positions, predatory and warlike. His enemies, the Prince continued, would hate him, though he supposed he could convince the more mortal allies otherwise with the promise of peace. The Queen, in particular, would seek to kill him as slowly and brutally as possible. In comparison, the people of Norway, and all others who choose to seek shelter with the castle, were not under threat of annihilation.

Everyone relaxed. “Thank you,” said Wolden.

No more questions were forthcoming. The shimmering lights bid everyone a good night, and the alien warmth receded from the Council’s minds.

King Raimond blinked and swayed lightly on his feet. Queen Asta closed the already minor distance between them.

He flashed her a grateful smile and, clearing his throat, stood tall for his Council. It was then that he’d noticed the team of royal guardsmen standing a ways behind the group, expressions unsure and weapons half-lowered. Standing at the head was Sergeant Bjelland.

“Ah, Sergeant!” he called. “If I’d seen you there, I’d have asked the Prince to include you. Gather the Royal Guard and ready transportation to Old Tønsberg.”

The Sergeant furrowed his brow. “S-sir?”

“Trust me. Go, please.” As the Sergeant and his men left, King Raimond focused his attention upon his Council. “Queen Asta and I will head to the castle with the Guard. Who will go with us?”

“I shall,” said Wolden. “I’ll also notify the surrounding troops to come our way.” Osterholt voiced his support as well.

“Perfect. Well, shall we get appropriately dressed and be on our way?”

* * *

Either the alien was in Norway, or the old kingdom had futuristic spontaneous castle-building technology and never told anybody. Which was understandable, really. Build a miles-high, miles-long castle in a few hours? What government _wouldn’t_ want such technology?

Though…authorizing a massive building project for the middle of the night _while the whole world was on lockdown because a six hundred-foot, three-headed alien was free-roaming the earth_ was truly an odd decision.

Tony could respect that. After all, what _hasn’t_ he done in the middle of the night, short of building a spaceship?

“Jarvis!” he called into the silence of his lab, kicking back from the screens and twirling his seat around. His eyes briefly flicked to the television screen mounted to the wall; the national news was recycling the same four satellite shots of the creature flying at the very edge of the atmosphere while a petite blonde flapped her lips. “We’re going on a vacation!”


End file.
